


Euro-Vision is 20/20

by futureboy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: (I can't believe I'm tagging this...), Banter, Culture, Eurovision, Eurovision 2019 Spoilers, Eurovision Song Contest 2019, Everyone Hates The Thought of a Gavin Victory, Gen Work, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 12:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18873436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futureboy/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: It's the most wonderful time of the year... Fiona's French. Gavin's British. Everyone else is too American to understand why Gavin's dreams of victory are completely deluded.[Live fic. I'm updating as it happens!!]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]
> 
> This may be the stupidest idea I've ever had.

“Who did you draw?”

“Germany,” says Michael.

Jeremy flinches. “Oh, Spain. This could either be really bad or really good.”

“CZECH REPUBLIC--”

“I got IKEA,” says Alfredo blankly, waving his slip of paper in front of Jack’s face. “Are they good?”

“Well,” says Gavin, “they made ABBA, so that’s pretty bloody nifty if you ask me.”

He’s standing with his hands on his hips, assessing the stream room - not the one in the office, but Fiona’s stream room, a converted basement with a huge screen which she seems to be very proud of. Gavin’s always game for a theatre room.

Especially when it’s because of a Eurovision party.

“Does everyone know how this works?”

“We’re doing homebrew scoring, right?” Lindsay laughs. “Points for pyrotechnics, cinematography, gayness, and bop versus slap.”

“Bop versus slap is the most important category,” says Fiona. “That’s the one where you’re like, was it cute and fun, or did it go the fuck off?”

“We got rid of the ‘politics’ category, that’s too hard for Americans,” Meg adds.

Michael snorts. “And you drew Russia, so you would’ve lost on principle.”

“Hey! They make a real effort to pretend nothing’s wrong.”

Gavin huffs and checks over the buffet. Pizza for Italy. Pork pies for Britain. Tapas for Spain and Portugal, meat platters for Poland, and the desserts--

“Leave Austria alone,” Fiona hisses, slapping his hand when he reaches for the pastries. “I’ve already fought Ryan and I’ll fight you too.”

“But the biscuits, Fiona!”

“Just hurry up and get on the group chat, GB,” she grins, “I can’t wait for you to lose already.”

Oh, it’s on. “Fight me, Nova,” he bites back. “France are sell-outs, everyone knows that.”

“Would love themes have counted for politics?” Meg wonders, pulling apart a slice of Linzer torte.

Gavin opens the group chat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs 1-13.

**Gavin:** You got it open?

**Geoff:** yeah me and the squirt are watching on YouTube

**Meg:** There’s no Graham there, what’s the point?

**Geoff:** Graham?

**Fiona:** Norton   
He’s the sassy one from the UK with the talk show

**Lindsay:** He basically talks shit the entire time

 

**Michael:** Malta ripped off Boy George!

**Jack:** They thought they’d blend in

**Gavin:** Can’t camouflage plagiarism mate

 

**Fiona - > Gavin:** You’re so going to eat shit

**Gavin - > Fiona:** Eat MERDE Fiona, our song was co-written by Sweden

 

**Steffie:** We want Russia’s rainbox for the office so we can send Ryan there for golfit bipping

 

**Lindsay:** Is Graham Norton trying to sell the set to the British public?

 

**Alfredo:** FUCK OFF THIS IS AMAZING

**Meg:** RIGHT

**Alfredo:** SWEDEN COULD GET IT, I’D SMASH HIM SO FAST MAN

 

**Jack:** Who drew Slovenia?

**Jeremy:** Shifty Larry

**Alfredo:** Aw man sorry @Larry

**Larry:** This isn’t looking too good for me.

**Gavin:** Marcus would so love those spacey nebula effects though

**Jeremy:** GRAHAM CALLED IT CREEPY

**Meg:** You’re fucked @Larry

 

**Alfredo:** What Cyprus looking like a cheap teardrop chandelier for

**Fiona:** I can dig these goth cowboys tho

**Alfredo:** OH SHIT NOW SHE A NAKED CHANDELIER!!

**Michael:** I think Cyprus broke Meg.

 

**Gavin:** NETHERLANDS

**Lindsay:** I can’t believe the one you drew from the hat is gonna be better than your actual country

**Gavin:** Bookies’ favourite, Linds

 

**Jeremy - > JML:** Take a shot every time Ryan sneaks over to the snack table

**Michael:** Oh god

**Lindsay:** We die on this glorious Eurovision battlefield this night

 

**Jack:** Oh, Greece was my second draw! I got the lesbian fencers!

**Meg:** You look after them, Jack, or I s2g.

**Fiona:** I wish a lesbian fencer in taffeta would throw a yoga ball at me, killing me instantly...


	3. Chapter 3

****

They’re halfway through. Michael Rice of the UK is on sixteenth out of twenty-six acts - France is twenty-first. Madonna’s on later, too.

“I feel like I have to drink this beer whilst squatting,” Jeremy remarks, cracking open a can of Tyskie Książęce. “Hey, get a picture, Jack--”

“There’s been worse on this floor,” says Fiona flatly. She bursts into an unexpected giggle when Jeremy and Lindsay wobble in Slav squats, cans crackling under their grips. Ryan falls on his ass trying to chug a Diet Coke.

“Guys, it’s coming on again!” Gav shushes.

Jack throws a mozzarella ball at him.

 

* * *

 

 

**Fiona:** ISRAEL WENT HARD WITH THE GAY POINTS

**Gavin:** He does look like Freddie Mercury, so are you really surprised?

 

**Jack:** Spirit in the Sky?!!?!?!?

**Geoff:** Norman Greenbaum ripoff

**Meg:** Damn, there’s a lot of ripoff titles this year.

**Lindsay:** All I can hear is that Carly Rae Jepsen song ngl

**Michael:** WOAHOHOHOHHH, IT’S ALWAYS A GOOD TIME

 

**Gavin:** UK REPRESEEENNNTTT

**Fiona:** Shame he can’t sing into the mic

**Lindsay:** His teeth are too nice, are you sure he’s English?

**Alfredo:** You pipe down and let the man fight Brexit

**Ryan:** I’m marking this as a solid 8/10 gay points

**Gavin:** Just look at that lightshow sphincter in centre stage

 

**Jeremy:** Why do Europeans give thank you shoutouts like they’re in a hostage situation?

**Ryan:** Some people love their wife and kids, man, let them have this.

**Fiona:** It’s because you get guillotined if you come last

**Meg:** @Gavin ^^^

 

**Lindsay:** Graham says Iceland are very anti-capitalist

**Geoff:** If I’d’ve known there’d be socialist BDSM screamo I wouldn’t have shown this to my fucking kid @Gavin @Fiona

 

**Michael - > Gavin:** Iceland’s camerawork look like the drugs from Surgeon Simulator.

**Gavin - > Michael:** It’s a 10/10 for cinematography from me, boi

 

**Alfredo:** Jesus christ this is white

 

**Matt - > Fiona: ** How’s your party going?

**Fiona - > Matt:** Gavin is two shots deeper than Michael, Jeremy is four shot deeper than Lindsay

**Matt - > Fiona:** What about you?

**Fiona - > Matt:** I’m one deeper than Gavin   
So middle grounding it atm

 

**Jeremy - > Kat:** Should I get another leather jacket?   
There’s a lot of them in this competition. I think I should get another one

 

**Fiona:** Just so you guys know, Zena from Belarus looks like every rich white eastern european girl who ever lived

**Meg:** Is it the branded crop top that gives it away?

**Ryan:** I think it was the puke-coloured tracksuit in her preview

 

**Jack - > Geoff:** Ryan keeps pronouncing Azerbaijan with a hard J

**Geoff - > Jack:** Can’t you shame him more publicly than this?

 

**Gavin:** I want Marcus to build us hologram robots

**Michael:** You’re going to kill that man

**Trevor:** Better him than me

 

**Fiona:** VIVE LA FRANCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Ryan:** Ah boy.


	4. Chapter 4

“France are winning on all points!” Meg shrieks, waving her scorecard.

Gavin screeches. “It looks like a bloody newspaper!”

“Face it, Gavin,” Fiona says triumphantly, as Alfredo pelts him with pork pie pastry, “we’ve got the gay, the politics, the  _ aesthetique _ , the slap factor--”

“THERE ISN’T A SLAP FACTOR,” he whines.

Jeremy flicks him in the dick. “Shut the fuck up, Gavin, you’re ruining the song.”

“Yeah, Gavin.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Matt:** I don’t know whether to hate this or not

**Steffie:** Is this Italian culture @Gavin

**Geoff:** Yeah, flora hates it

**Fiona:** Do you @Geoff?

**Geoff:** Uhhh I hate Gavin more, but that might factor in to the Italy performance

**Alfredo:** I want that man’s shirt.

 

**Ryan:** It’s so weird how a good quarter of these entries have random childhood photos projected on the wall

 

**Matt:** I hope you guys are enjoying Serbia’s Emma Frost set design as much as I am

**Lindsay:** That’s all there is to enjoy, really.

**Jack:** ...this isn’t a slap OR a bop, What Do

 

**Steffie:** How are you doing?

**Larry:** No-one’s responding because apparently Jeremy spilt vodka and everyone dogpiled him

**Ryan:** I have the inside scoop.

**Ryan Haywood sent a photo.**

**Geoff:** I’ve never seen Gavin that shade of blue before.

**Fiona:** That’s what colour the air will be when UK lose

**Gavin:** PISS OFF

 

**Gavin:** Swiss resolution is all kinds of messed up.

**Michael:** Super widescreen!

**Meg:** Europe have different aspect ratios to the US, clearly.

 

**Geoff:** What I’m getting from this is what Achievement Hunter: The Musical should have been like.

**Ryan:** Absolutely not.

**Geoff:** More mesh, more smoke machines, more lazers….

**Meg:** More shiny crowns… You know, I’m on board with this, Geoff.

 

**Alfredo:** The Asgardian ship blasted everyone out of the airlock!   
*Australian

**Michael:** You know what, it works with Hemsworth.

**Fiona:** Sorry for your loss @Jack

**Alfredo:** F

**Gavin:** F

**Geoff:** F

**Jack:** You guys suck.

**Lindsay:** F

 

**Jeremy:** COME ON SPAIN

**Meg:** Look at your cute little house @Heremy!

**Michael:** @Gavin they stole your twitter background for the projection!

**Gavin:** I thought it was more Weird Place colours tbh

 

**Alfredo:** I could do better than this. I could write a better song AND do better dancing.

**Lindsay:** But you didn’t.

**Ryan:** @Alfredo ^^ F

 

**Fiona:** @everyone WE’VE HEARD THE WINNER   
NOW WE JUST HAVE TO WAIT

**Gavin:** COME ON YOU BRITS!!!

**Fiona:** Can’t vote for urself you fuck

 

* * *

 

 

“Look at that!” Jeremy says, pointing delightedly, “they even have flamethrowers and sparks when they’re opening the voting channels! That’s awesome!”

“I want those for the office.”

Jack flinches. “You’re gonna burn down the whole building, Ryan--”

“And set fire to what  _ ceiling _ ?!” Alfredo says, gesturing wildly at him, “we’re a hole in a frame, dude, flamethrowers ain’t gonna do  _ shit _ to us.”

Meg waves a tiny flag on a cocktail stick pathetically. “Come on, San Marino!”

“Technically I can vote for the UK,” Michael says thoughtfully. “We’re not in Britain, this is America. It should go through, right?”

“Yes, Michaelboi!” Gavin squawks delightedly, “that’s a  _ brilliant _ idea--”

“Oh, yeah, I know. I’m not gonna do it, though.”

“There’s so many trans flags,” says Lindsay dreamily. “I love this.”

The presenters wedge in a filler segment.

_ When this contest was launched sixty-four years ago, it was with the hope of bringing people together through the power of music. _

Fiona glances around her home theatre.

New colleagues, new friends, same old cheesy competition.

“Whatever happens,” says Gavin, who seems to have taken note of her contemplative silence, “I just want you to know that this party is awesome, and I always thought your country sucked.”

“Motherfucker, joke’s on you,” she says, giving him a shove. “ _ Both _ your countries sucked.”

He claws at his ribcage: “ _ nil pwahhh _ , Fiona. You wound me. Wow, you’re mean when you’re riled up--”

_ Ding _ .

Lindsay glances at her messages. “Geoff says that the UK need a Eurovision Git Gud.”

“Like you could beat Verka,” Meg snorts. “Look at her. You can’t beat a human Christmas tree, Gavin, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t wanna beat Verka, she should win every year.”

“Gosh. She’s like if Elton John had a festive disco ball child,” Ryan remarks drily.

“She’s got a 69 on the back of her jacket!”

“Jeremy, please, you’re wasting the vodka down yourself.”

As everyone else chatters amongst themselves, Gavin rests his head on Fiona’s shoulder, their feud temporarily forgotten. The hosts are singing with the 1979 Eurovision winner - a proper nice little vintage song, with the whole crowd humming along.

_ Ah, Eurovision,  _ laughs Graham.  _ Everything changes, everything stays the same. _

“Ready to lose?” she asks him.

“I’m going to beat you to death with my wooden spoon,” he mumbles back, and starts typing in the group chat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Gavin:** Think Sony are gonna copyright claim for the Spider-Man quote?

**Larry:** That would make my day.

 

**Ryan:** What the fuck is going on?

**Gavin:** Madonna’s gone mental.

**Meg:** All I got from that was her telling the very horny bisexual host to leave his husband and come on her pirate tour.

 

**Geoff:** Hands up who would let everyone in this project segment suck their dick

**Lindsay:** **🙌🙌🙌**

 

* * *

 

 

“Quavo!” Michael cries. “He looks like a knight! He’s gonna save the Madonna performance!”

“He’s backup to rescue her in case of another wardrobe malfunction,” Jack says.

“You watch the Brit Awards?” Gavin asks.

“If watching the Brit Awards means ‘watching Madonna get choked out by her own hugeass cape’, then I guess I watched it that year.”

_ Ding _ .

 

**Geoff:** Netta’s dressed like Big Bird.

 

Fiona hums and pops a piece of Ksabi salami in her mouth. “I’ve got a crush on Netta like I’ve got a crush on Lizzo. I just love her so much.”

“I’m more of a Conchita fan. Oh god,” Michael says, looking at the voting reminders, “Germany’s gonna eat absolute  _ ass _ . Sisters… Fucking  _ Christ _ . Why couldn’t I get a gayass song with cool pyjamas and more fat smoke than a teenage vape artist?”

Lindsay speaks out of the corner of her mouth: “Alfredo, I have a great idea on how to seduce my husband.”

“I’m in.”

“Shhh… It’s happening. It’s finally happening, they’ve been stalling  _ forever _ ,” Fiona says, and shuffled forwards in her seat, “oh my god, she can’t even sing really but--”

“You take that back!”

“She’s iconic, but she can’t sing.”

“She’s got  _ monks _ !” Michael protests, and they sit back to watch.

“She’s got fucking  _ lumber. _ ”

“THE MASKS,” says Meg, very quietly, sounding breathless.

“....The hair pulling,” mumbles Ryan.

It shifts abruptly into an off-the-beat rhythm, which must be the New Song part of Madonna’s performance, and the auto-tune kicks in - much to Gavin’s relief.

“It’s like her vocals got in the shower in The Sims.”

_ Ding _ .

 

**Jeremy Dooley sent a photo.**

 

“Jeremy!”

It’s an edit of Alfredo, looking at Quavo on the big screen with cartoon hearts in his eyes. “Listen,” says Jeremy, “you’re a slut for this, we all know it.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Meg:** “It’s an awkward countdown! We love these.” Graham’s right, English people love a weirdly too-fast too-slow countdown.

**Lindsay:** I love… Gal Gadot.

**Geoff:** Is it just me or is this like a travel agent ad

**Meg:** Petition to have Wonder Woman in every vacation ad

 

**Steffie:** THE VOTES ARE COMING IN

**Michael:** You excited?

**Larry:** We’ve mostly been talking about how everyone at Eurovision either has perfect eyebrows or No Eyebrows

 

* * *

 

 

“So how does this work?” Ryan asks. 

“Portugal’s jury awarded points. The phone vote is separate… Twelve is what you want, in terms of points.”

“DOOOZE PWAH,” yells Gavin.

“ _ San Marino got a vote before us, _ ” says Graham, and Meg waves her assigned flag gleefully.

Twelve points go to Italy three times in a row and Michael puts chip dust down the back of Gavin’s shirt. The streak ends with Sweden, predictably:

“The juries are all politics,” Fiona says, not without a degree of disgust. “Not gonna lie, a lot of the time it’s like, bribery votes or friendship votes. Ireland usually get, like, six from UK just because they’re kinda friends. And Russia get a lot of please-don’t-invade-me twelves.”

“Who would Sweden invade?”

“Oh, no, they’re Ultimate Friendship Points.”

“Yeah, Sweden are just good,” Gavin grumbles.

Michael bellows at Alexander Rybak for giving Britain two points. Ryan laughs at the set of the Spanish jury wobbling in the background, like it’s a Theatre Mode he’s being particularly scathing of. Meg points at Tower Bridge - and also the Italian jury’s dress.

“She’s got a boob window!”

_ Ding _ .

 

**Geoff:** Italy’s tit cut-out looks like a Halo energy sword

 

“We should’ve kept an eye on Italy, you sneaky fuck,” Jeremy accuses Gavin, “we were so focused on the UK that we forgot your other one might win.”

He crows jubilantly. “And England isn’t last! Four whole points, this is great.”

“Come on, San Marino. One point is better than none--”

“Who drew North Macedonia?”

“Flora Ramsey,” Fiona reads, from her little scorecard. “Fucking hell, she’s lucky as anything.”

Romania yodel. Cyprus’s jury set looks like scenic GTA V footage from a helicopter, and they get booed by the crowd for giving twelve friendship points to Greece. Italy get knocked down to fourth and Gavin sulks over a croissant.

“See, this is what countries should be proud of,” Ryan says. “I wish we could have representatives who sing a nice song and bust out the flamethrowers occasionally. It’s much nicer than some of the values of people who represent us.”

“No Nazis at Eurovision, that’s for sure,” Fiona nods. “ _ Osez rêver _ , baby!”

“STILL NOT LAST,” shrieks Gavin, as Russia award their points. The UK are twenty-fourth.

_ Ding. _

 

**Larry:** What are Belgium saying?

**Fiona:** Loved the makeup and Madonna, it’s the usual filler shit

 

“I want Lithuania’s shirt,” Gavin decides.

**TWELVE POINTS GO TO …….**

Meg smacks him in the shin. “You have enough.”

“Aw.”

North Macedonia are waving their sunshine-y flag all over the shop - Gavin thinks maybe they’ve won, which he doesn’t feel too put out about. And the UK get a point from Georgia, bringing them to twelve points in total.

“Thanks, Ryan.”

“Nothing to do with me,” he grins, as Cyprus get their friendship points back from Greece. “God, the lag is  _ unbearable _ .”

“ _ Yes, waving, now talking _ ,” Graham says expectantly. “ _ There we go _ .”

France are thirteenth and Fiona might be able to live with that.

“You alright?”

“Well, I know I’ll beat Gavin,” she smirks, “so I’m fine either way. But it’d be nice to stay on the first half of the leaderboard.”

“Hah, Switzerland gave us another point! Suck on that, Frenchie.”

Gavin can’t remember what  _ cul _ means, but he’s pretty sure Fiona just said something extremely rude to him.

They’re down to the final votes - from Israel themselves.  _ Good music, fun, and friendship! _

Their twelve points go to the Netherlands.

Sweden’s two points ahead of North Macedonia and it’s CLOSE. Fiona leans forwards in her seat, and she’s not the only one - they’re all holding their breath for the phone vote points.

“I’m gonna throw up. This is too tense.”

“That might be the vodka, Lil J.”

“Oh, you’re not wrong.”

The voting process gets explained by the presenters, so Gavin pours a drink for Fiona and himself whilst the Americans watch and wait. France are thirteenth and the UK are twenty fourth.

“Spain got  _ fifty-three points from the public _ ?!”

“Public vote goes hard,” Fiona shrugs.

_ Public vote for the UK is…. Three points! _

Gavin crumples, hides his face in a cushion, and almost knocks over his drink. The UK slides into last place, with no chance of recovery.

Ryan claps his shoulder. “Well, there’s your British exit.”

“Ha!” Michael yells.

_ Germany… I’m sorry. Zero points. _

“Wait,  _ what _ ?!” he shouts, and the entire arena winces. 

_ Ding. _

 

**Geoff:** Norway just shot into first with over two hundred points!!!!

**Jack:** They were twenty second! How?!

**Fiona:** Phone votes are where it’s at man

 

**Lindsay:** Did Iceland just get censored?

**Steffie:** They sure did, Russia and Israel don’t sound like they appreciated the Free Palestine scarfs though

**Lindsay:** That’s a ten for politics from me then

 

Russia are leading and Fiona isn’t happy about it.

“Sweden or North Macedonia better win!” she calls, even as Italy slide into first place, “I’m not having Russia and I’m  _ not _ having Gavin win!”

“This is all politics now, baby!” Michael crows, “this is great! Eat shit, Gavin!”

It’s all between Macedonia and Sweden - it’s impossible to tell--

 

“Seventh! Fuck! It’s either the Netherlands or Sweden now!”

“Enough with the math! Just say it!!”

“Stop reminding us how many points! We know! It’s two hundred and fifty three!”

The drum rhythms rise.

_ Ninety three points!! _

“FUCK!”

“ **_YES!!!_ ** ” Gavin roars, launching the cushion across the room and doing a victory lap. “I won the hat draw!! I knew it!! BIG UP THE NETHERLANDS--”

_ Ding. Ding. Ding. _

 

**Gavin Free was removed from the group.**

 

“So are you going to do this again next year?” Lindsay asks, popping salami into her mouth. Most of the men are beating the shit out of Gavin in the corner of the home theatre. Ryan’s filming it. (Jack’s nodded off on the other couch.)

A wayward leg strikes out in the sideline of Fiona’s sight, as she bites her lip. “Well,” she says. “Eurovision rules. Winner hosts next time.”

Meg, Lindsay, and Fiona glance over the back of the couch at the mountain of Achievement Hunters squealing and hitting each other.

“N’aw, fuck,” says Meg.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr - come say hi!
> 
> Kudoses, commentses, and subs are always welcomed. Thanks for reading ♥


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